Light in the Dark
by Leelu's skittles
Summary: Sirius wished that he'd seen it sooner. Or rather, he wished that he'd never forgotten. Because James was nothing, and Harry was his light in a darkness that was insanity. SBHP, past JPSB, slash, oneshot. Companion to Living in a Shadow.


**Title**: _Light in the Dark_

**Fandom**: _Harry Potter_

**Word Count**: _3260_

**Disclaimer/warning:** _I don't own HP (because small children wouldn't be allowed to watch/read the series. At all.) SB/HP Sex, mentions of insanity and other Sirius related stuff._

_You know, I just wanted this to be a short (as in, drabble length) companion piece to Living in the shadow. Turns out, Living in the shadow acts as more of a companion piece to this one shot-ish fic. I really don't know why I bother to plan things. It doesn't help me in the foggiest. And now, before I go and sacrifice myself to the wolves – er... go and feed my numerous cats, I give you Light in the dark._

_Sirius always gets the longer stories. Bastard, stealing the limelight._

_Oh, and it will seem rushed in some parts, but that is because that's how I imagine Sirius' thought process after Azkaban. Muddled and jumpy and rushed. Or, that's what I tell myself when I read through this, at least. XD_

James. It had all started with James, so many years ago. A sick, disgusting obsession with his best friend had, after getting smashed in a muggle bar during the holiday between their fifth and sixth year at school, turned into his becoming James' sexual release. Whenever he was feeling too stressed or too horny or too _anything_, Sirius would be shot a look, or a seemingly innocent touch would signify James' need. And Sirius was hopeless against his best friend. He would never be able to say no.

The first time, they'd been drunk and it had been wonderful. But the second time had left Sirius feeling empty and used. And, when it had become clear that James intended to keep having sex with Sirius, his internal reaction was so far from what he'd anticipated. He'd always though sex with James would be great, brilliant. He could imagine the warm feeling that would lodge into his chest and leaving him feeling happy for days afterwards. Instead, he felt cold inside at the revelation James wanted to continue _fucking_ him.

When James was above him, moaning and thrusting, Sirius felt the cold feeling worse than ever. He felt empty, even with James inside of him, and used. The moments when Sirius didn't feel disgusted with himself were rare, and they never occurred with James near. But Sirius couldn't say no, or stop letting James have his way with him because Sirius _loved_ him. And James would tell Sirius that he loved him too, before leaving Sirius to go and try to woo Lily.

Sirius wondered if James thought about how, when he was gallivanting after Lily, he would get before Sirius and take him into his mouth. He wondered whether, when James told him he loved him, the lies burnt his tongue; whether the lies hurt him as much as they did Sirius. He didn't think so. And Sirius was left, alone, in the place that had served to hide their sex from the world. He was left, cum dripping from him and tears making their way down his face, to vanish any traces they'd been there.

He always felt like a Knockturn Alley whore when James walked out of the room, not looking back.

And the worst part, about their whole affair, was Lily. Sirius loved the woman like a sister, but he still let himself be bent over by her boyfriend whenever the whim would strike James. It was pathetic, pinning after James, and Sirius knew it.

Sirius sometimes wondered if anyone else noticed their relationship. But no one did. Hell, they didn't want to. Because James and Lily were _made_ for each other. It made Sirius sick sometimes, the way everyone talked about them; especially, years after their deaths, when they were heralded as the perfect couple. Two lovers, for all those who'd been screwed over by cupid and his fucking arrows, to idolise and strive to be like.

No one wanted to see the strain in their relationship, the fact that in a time of peace, when there wasn't fear of death hanging around and a desperate need to live in the moment, they wouldn't survive. They were too volatile together, too much raw lust and not nearly enough love and devotion. But Sirius saw it. He saw it in the way James would pant above him after he'd been flooed to come over because Lily was gone, and in the way that Lily always had bruised lips, mussed hair and burgeoning love bites on her neck when she returned from 'visiting a friend'.

It made Sirius feel slightly better about himself to know that Lily also had a lover, even though she was married to James. And he knew that Lily probably knew about him, just as James was aware that Lily wasn't faithful to him. Sirius had wondered, many times, in Azkaban, who it was that Lily had been with. But he would never know.

Before Sirius knew it, he and James had been having sex for years. The casual, lingering touches were so common no one questioned them (because it would ruin their image of the perfect couple) but they still left Sirius feeling like shit. Because of James, his best friend and man he loved, Sirius began to dim; like a star dying. And in a way, he was. Being with James was killing him. He smiled less, and his laughter became more forced. Food was only eaten when in the company of others who were eating and his immune system was suffering.

In truth, the first thought Sirius had upon hearing of James death had been _'Thank Merlin.'_ The first emotion was relief. He could live again! But he couldn't, not really. Because there was some sick, twisted part of his brain that considered he and James to be in a relationship. And that small, tiny, stupidly in love part, the part that had refused to let Sirius have anything with anyone else, mourned for James death. For the loss of an imaginary love and a nonexistent relationship.

And the grief for James, for Lily, overtook his brain and he went after Pettigrew. He left Harry. He was thrown into Azkaban, with all his memories of James fucking him to keep him company. Memories of what should've been happy times were tainted by the knowledge that he was nothing more than a fuck toy for the one person he trusted above all else. The memories were all that he knew, turning him into a bitter shell of a man more than the Dementors could have done.

And then he escaped and knew freedom again. It was amazing, but he was so angry and bitter at the world. And at James, so much at James. He made it to Hogwarts, channelling all his rage and anger into killing that no good rat; and he saw _Harry_. Harry, who looked so much like James it hurt. Time passed in a blur for Sirius, torn between searching for ways to kill the rat, and watching Harry. And then he made it into the dorm room, and he spent _hours_ watching Harry. But then the rat squeaked and he tried to kill it, but then the boy woke up and his scream pierced Sirius' brain and the fog cleared for a brief while.

He ran and hid in the forest. And, for the next long while, he thought about Harry. The boy, his godson, looked so much like James that Sirius had been having thoughts that made him feel like he deserved to be in Azkaban. And then his obsession with Harry took over the one he had with Pettigrew. He needed to see Harry, be near Harry. And then it turned into him longing to be _with_ Harry.

But then he had a chance to, not only kill Pettigrew, but get Harry on his own. His bitter, foggy, Azkaban muddled mind came up with practically thousands of different situations involving Harry and him. But then, when it happened, Harry was angry with him and stunning the two other children wouldn't have helped. And then Remus had shown up, then Snape, and all the thoughts that had popped up when he'd noticed the three sneaking back to the castle had turned to dust and Sirius had tried to get through the situation.

And, at the end of it, Harry didn't hate him anymore! And, riding away on Buckbeak, he thought of how to get Harry to trust him more, how to make it so he was in a position to be with the man he loved again. Even if it wasn't really James, and his young, beautiful – underage – son instead.

And then there was simmering of war again, and so many things happened. His near death in the department of Mysteries did nothing to help with his deteriorating mental state. Over the next few years he watched as Harry grew and found that, while he was with Harry, things weren't as bad. His mind wasn't as muddled, his rage wasn't as intense and he felt like he could be the vibrant, happy person he was before Azkaban. Before James.

And then there was war. Harry was torn away from Sirius, and it hurt. He had seen Harry warming to the idea of being with Sirius, thanks to many subtle hints that he'd never been capable of before Azkaban. The years in the prison had dragged the side of his personality that he'd buried during his young teenage years. The side that proudly, loudly, claimed him as an insane, dark, power hungry wizard from the House of Black.

Sirius couldn't remember the war too well. It just blurred together, times and people and battles joining together into one long time before he saw Harry again. He became fixated with the teen, more so than he was with James. But Sirius ignored that. The only reason that he was interested in his young, _so_ _young_, godson was because of James. He couldn't handle it any other way. Because, in a moment of complete lucidity, he'd realised the truth and felt worse than the Death Eaters, wore than _Voldemort_. Because he didn't want Harry for _James_.

He wanted Harry for _Harry_.

And his fragile psyche couldn't take it, so the revelation was stuffed away into a dark corner of his mind to be gradually uncovered again during the years in a way that wouldn't completely shatter him.

And then the war was over and Harry was returned to him. The boy celebrated his seventeenth birthday, making him legal in the wizarding world, and decided to move in with Sirius. Grimmauld place was almost always empty of people, except of Sirius and Harry. Everyone else was too involved in their own lives, trying to get them back on track after the war to come over too often.

And then one day Harry had given Sirius a look, so filled with lust and want and need and utter _longing_, That Sirius knew he could slip into the boys bed anytime he wanted. And so he did. That night he slipped into Harrys bedroom, just down the hall from his, and slid into the bed of the barely legal teen and made love to him. But, as his climax approached, that dark, Black, side of him sprang up.

And, when he came, Sirius moaned James' name.

A part of him had thought that, by hurting Harry he could hurt James, the man that so looked like Harry and who had hurt him so badly. And James did look like Harry. In the time that Sirius had spent obsessing over Harry; Harry had become the main one. James was a second thought, a footnote on the page of his life. And as pain and betrayal sparked in Harrys eyes, even as he came, made Sirius feel better because he was finally, _finally_, getting back at James.

And, continuing on the sudden vindictive streak that had possessed him, Sirius slipped out of the room with nary a glance back at Harry.

And a pattern was established. Sirius couldn't help but say James' name, even when he had Harrys names on his lips it was still James' name that spilled over. Because every time Sirius said it, Harry was in pain and Sirius felt like all that pain was going straight to James who was, hopefully, burning in hell.

But as time moved on Sirius began to notice that Harry was getting paler, the bags under his eyes more pronounced and he became even thinner. Sirius could see the boys ribs. And then Sirius realised what he was doing. He was doing almost the exact same thing _James_ had done, years earlier, to him. And because of his childish desire to get back at James he was killing Harry.

Sirius hated James, absolutely _loathed_ him. That goddamned man was fucking everything up, ruining his life again, and he wasn't even alive. He was making him kill Harry, ruining every chance he had with the boy. Harry, who put up with him saying his fathers name _every night_ and still allowed Sirius to come in and make love to him. Harry with silky hair that fell around his eyes and ears and was just too easy to tangle his hands in. Harry that always seemed to have the most heartbreakingly sad air about him (and Sirius couldn't help but think that that was his fault). Harry who _loved_ him.

And then, while watching Harry make breakfast, Sirius remembered the realisation that he'd had during the war. Because with Harry, he was getting better. The moments of clarity, of lucidity, were now equal with the moments where he was bat-shit insane. And because of his better state of mind, he remembered that he loved Harry for Harry. Not because of James, or of a sick twisted desire to get back at James.

And Sirius hated James more than he ever thought he would because it wasn't James' fault that he was hurting Harry.

Sirius watched as Harry cooked breakfast, ignorant of the major breakthrough Sirius had just experienced. Sirius decided, right then, that that night he would, no matter what, say Harrys name. And then he would tell Harry how much he loved him, and how everything about him was so absolutely perfect. From his expressive green eyes, to his laugh –which he hadn't heard for _so long_ – and even the way that he snored was perfect. (Because those snores were so soft and quiet and almost nonexistent that made Sirius want to watch Harry sleep forever)

But Sirius saw the depressed hunch of his shoulders, and the dull, glazed look in beautiful green eyes that should be filled with happiness and life and decided that just because he could wait until tonight, doesn't meant that _Harry_ could wait for tonight.

So Sirius stood from his seat at the table and walked up behind Harry. Sirius reached out, turning off the stove, before wrapping his arms around Harrys small waist. He rested his head next to Harrys and nibbled as his earlobe, absently noting that Harry was still growing and he needed to make the teen eat more, before pressing a soft kiss against his neck. Sirius pulled Harry away from the stove and led the unprotesting boy out of the kitchen. He was not, after all, going to make love to Harry while _proclaiming_ his love on the stone of the kitchen floor. He wasn't _that_ bat-shit crazy. Any more, at least.

They reached Harrys bedroom, but Sirius tugged Harry away from the door. This was going to be a new start for them and Sirius was going to start it in his own bed, rather than Harrys which was tainted irrevocably with thoughts of depression and James. So Sirius led Harry to his bed and undressed Harry, placing a kiss to every bit of pale white flesh that was revealed to him.

And as Sirius worshipped his body, a heart broken Harry decided that he could pretend, if just for a little while, that Sirius loved him back.

Hours later, after Sirius had finished kissing Harry and licking him and touching him and preparing him, Sirius slid into Harry. The teen moaned as Sirius became fully sheathed in him and realised that his resolve was slipping. Tear welled in his eyes as Sirius held him close because he knew that he would say Sirius' name as he came and then he would be totally lost to the other man.

Sirius felt his heart break as he saw Harrys tears and he held him close, thrusting deeper into the younger man as if to try and alleviate his pain. It wasn't long before their languid pace quickened. The hours of Sirius going over Harrys body had made them both unbelievably hard and Harry was so _tight_, even after all this time.

Their moans escalated as their thrusts became wild. Harry dug his fingers into Sirius back, dragging them down and leaving lines down the broad plane, while the elder man buried his head into Harrys neck, attacking it with his teeth in between his moans.

"You're perfect." Sirius whispered into Harrys ear, and Harry winced. After having his fathers name said every night so far, Harry knew better than to think Sirius was talking to him. But the uttered words brought him to the edge –and Harry tried to appease himself by saying that it was Sirius' deep, rough, husky, lust filled voice that did it- and after another thrust that hit his prostate dead on, Harry came moaning Sirius' name.

"Harry." Sirius moaned back as he came, the tightening of Harrys arse around him and the fact that Harry had actually said his name pushing him over. Sirius rode out his orgasm before he pulled out of Harry and dropped down, exhausted, next to the shocked younger man. Sirius found it utterly distressing how a simple thing like saying his name had affected him so.

"I mean it Harry, you are perfect." Harry looked at him, his eyes looking pleadingly at Sirius. "And I love _you_, Harry. I love you." Sirius wrapped his arm around Harrys waist, pulling him closer. Tears leaked from Harrys eyes as he hugged Sirius tightly. Sirius felt the tears slide against his sweaty skin but only hugged the sobbing teen tighter. He promised silently that he would talk to Harry, try and apologise. Because Harry needed a reason _why_ he'd been saying the wrong name. And Sirius needed to tell him the truth. About everything, from his relationship with James, to his obsession and even how insane he'd been until Harry had started to live with him. But that could wait for later, because now was all about Harry.

"I love you too." Harry sobbed, looking up. His eyes were red and puffy, tear tracks running down his cheeks and he had a runny nose, but he'd never looked more beautiful to Sirius. Because his eyes were shining with love and their legs were tangled together and Sirius knew that this was so undeniably right as Harry kissed him with so much passion that everything else he'd ever experience paled.

Sirius knew he was a sick, twisted man. Falling in love with his best friend, allowing himself to be used by said friend and then, after years in a wizarding prison, he fell in love with his best friends _son_. But he could live with being a sick, twisted man (not to mention a cradle snatching, half insane fucking loser) if Harry was with him. Because Harry deserved so much more than Sirius, but he was selfish and possessive and would never give up the love Harry was offering for anything else in the world.

And as Harry rolled on top of him, wanting a second round, Sirius wondered how he could've been so stupid to want to hurt Harry for James. Because if Harry ever died, then Sirius' world would end. He wouldn't feel relief at any point, he'd just feel mind numbing, insane rage that the Black family was known for as his whole body grieved for Harry. Sirius would, after rampaging for a bit, gladly follow Harry into death and wherever it took him. So different than when James died. Because James was cruel, and uncaring and dominating and Harry was soft and kind, and walked on his tippy toes when he went out so he didn't squish the ants.

Because James was nothing compared to Harry.


End file.
